


two legs to stand on; neither work

by bogsheep



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Chronic Illness, Disabled Author, Disabled Character, Disabled Crowley, Fluff, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, crowley is a dumbass in love, not necessarily a Huge thing but it's a Thing, they have to take turns being morosexual, zira & crowley have 5 collective braincells and only one of them has 4 at any given time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-13 20:47:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19258897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogsheep/pseuds/bogsheep
Summary: The idea of Aziraphale, his friend-but-not-friend-because-they-are-hereditary-enemies, knowing that Crowley, a demon from the pits of Hell, had stupid, shaky legs? Disgusting to him. He couldn't let Aziraphale find out- Satan knows, he may just pity him. Eugh. Or, even worse, be kind to him. Like Crowley is a human he's particular fond of, one of those that gets Aziraphale all teary-eyed and warm-hearted. Disgusting.So, naturally, Crowley just never told him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hewwo I'm back and my bisexual disabled ass brings yall: crowley w chronic illness babeyyyyy
> 
> I based this partially off of my experiences w POTS & fibromyalgia/M.E,

  Being a snake, at least at one point in his life, Crowley had many small, snake-like quirks.

  
  On occasion, and without really thinking about it, he would flick his tongue out to smell the air. He craved warmth when he was cold, and during the warmer seasons he enjoyed sunbathing- even if he was loathe to admit it. He had a hiss that only really ever made an appearance anymore at times of high emotion. His eyes, of course, were one the most obvious signs of his snakehood.

  
  He also had never really gotten accustomed to legs. Especially using them to support his weight.

  
  Once upon a time, perhaps, walking came as natural to him as- well, as being an angel. But that was a long time ago, and both of those things had been long lost and forgotten.

  
  The first time he ever shifted from snake-form to human-adjacent-form, he was caught off-guard by the way his legs wobbled underneath him. They shook heavily, and made him feel weak and unsteady. He had gotten used to just having a long, sleek body with no extremities that apparently, the return of said extremities was causing some... issues.

  
  "Well, that went down like a lead balloon."

  
  He didn't tell the angel, of course- at first because _enemies, duh,_ and he couldn't reveal his biggest weakness- well, the biggest one they didn't already know- but gradually, his reasons shifted from _self-protection_ to _embarrassment_.

  
  The idea of Aziraphale, his friend-but-not-friend-because-they-are-hereditary-enemies, knowing that Crowley, a _demon_  from the pits of _Hell_ , had stupid, shaky legs? Disgusting to him. He couldn't let Aziraphale find out- Satan knows, he may just _pity_  him. Eugh. Or, even worse, be _kind_  to him. Like Crowley is a human he's particular fond of, one of those that gets Aziraphale all teary-eyed and warm-hearted. _Disgusting_.

  
  So, naturally, Crowley just never told him.

  
  His hips tendency to buckle just turned into part of his overdramatic gait. It was easiest to deny the shaking or buckling when his way of walking was just so _strange_  it all simply blended in. Easy as that! Crowley was absolutely fine!

  
  Crowley was, naturally, _not fine._

  
  Today, God Herself seemed to find it fit to _absolutely terrorize_  the demon. He had woken up in his bed, fully intending to get up and make coffee, go see Aziraphale, and enjoy the fact that the world was not a flaming holy battleground.

  
  The moment Crowley swung his legs over the bedside and stood up, he fell face-first into the floor.

  
  "FUCK." Said the lone voice in the apartment.

  
  Crowley attempted to push himself up, only to find that his blasted arms- which were normally one of the things he could more easily conceal- simply gave out almost immediantly, leaving him stranded most embarrassingly on the floor. With a headache and slightly bloody nose.

  
  " _Fuuuuuuck_." Said the lone voice again.

  
  It took a frankly horrific amount of tries, but eventually Crowley managed to get into a sitting position on the floor. Taking a deep breath, he then clawed his way up, using the bed for leverage, and eventually was able to stand- "stand"- on a pair of extremely shaky legs, and using one extremely shaky arm for extra support.

  
  Now, maybe you, being a presumably normal person, would simply stay home on such a day. Rest, relax, call Aziraphale and tell him something came up, sorry, can't make it today. And what a smart decision that would be!

  
  Sadly, Crowley doesn't make it. For anyone who knew him, it wasn't a surprising turn of events.

  
  He, instead, uses the walls and sparse furniture to make his way to his kitchen. There, he begins the painstaking process of making himself a cup of coffee, only realizes once it is done that he could have simply _miracled_  one. In his exhausted, stubborn state, he completely forgot about that.

  
  _Damn, I really have gone native._

  
  Crowley, sitting in the closest chair available, was trying very hard to casually sip his ridiculously heavy coffee, when the phone rang.

  
  From across the room.

  
  _Fuck_.

  
  "Hello, Crowley! I don't wanna keep you, but this adorable restaurant just opened up- I've heard it has the most exquisite desserts, gelato and cake and- well, I was thinking perhaps we could go check it out today! It's close enough to the bookshop that we can walk, and well- call me back when you can! Or don't! Either way, see you soon, dear!"

  
  And with that, the phone clicked off.

  
  Running his hands down his face, Crowley made a noise that was somehow a mixture of a groan, a whine, a sigh, and a scream. It really would have been quite funny if he wasn't in such a embarrassing predicament.

  
  _I can do this. I'm **going**  to do this. If it kills me, I'm walking that stupid, soft, **idiotic** , cute angel to that fucking stupid new shop, no matter **what**._

  
  And with that, and a great deal of patience, Crowley made his way to the elevator.

  
  Once he actually got walking, it was slightly easier- no, not easier, just less horrible- to get places. His gait was _wayy_ worse than normal, his legs were buckling like nothing else, using his arms for anything related to strength required _Herculean_  concentration, and he constantly felt like a gust of wind would knock him flat on his arse.

  
  But it was fine, this was fine, totally _fine,_   _nothing to see here, you nosy bitch._

  
  Driving, thank whoever, was a sitting activity. It took nearly all of his strength and Queen blasting loud enough to shake the car, but he was able to match his regular speeds. And he arrived at the bookshop in no time.

  
  Now the hard part; he had to get up and _moving again._  Blegh.

  
  Using the steering wheel, and then the roof of the car for leverage, he pulled himself up and out. It took a moment of standing and stretching, but he started taking _very_ wobbly steps towards the bookshop.

  
  His usual banging knock on the door was now barely a rap, but at least he wasn't collapsed on the floor.

  
  If he kept standing in one place,  _however,_  he damn well would be.

  
  "Ah! Crowley, I'm so glad you're here- did you get my voicemail? About the resturant?"

  
  Aziraphale was fluttering the bookshop around with so much excitement, it felt rude to be pessimistic in front of him.

  
  "Yes, angel, I did. Cake, I believe I heard?"

  
  Aziraphale whipped around, a huge, cherabic grin plastered all over his face. He lit up the room, and Crowley had to lean against a bookshelf when he saw it.

  
  "And _gelato!_  Oh, would you like to go now, Crowley dear, or later?"

  
  "Erm, now would be good. We can drink some wine here afterwards, how about that, huh?"

  
  Aziraphale cheerfully nodded, patted Crowley on the shoulder, and practically skipped out the door.

  
  _Stupid, soft, idiotic, cute..._

  
  "Angel, wait up!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crowley is like me: disabled but a stubborn dumbass who refuses to do any self care when Friend Want To Hang Out
> 
> anyways I'm absolutely in love w the concept of disabled crowley so naturally I'm writing 3 chapters of it 
> 
> also, a title that ISNT a hozier lyric???? fucking wild. anyways if u comment I will cry happily no matter where I am so. blease.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall ur positive responses make me So Happy!!! this fanfic is dumbass disabled people solidarity

   Crowley loved Aziraphale. He knew that much- he was desperately, _hopelessly_ in love with that angel. He was head over heels for him.

   But _damn it all_ he didn't severely regret going out with him that afternoon.

   It had barely been three minutes and Crowley felt straight-up _sick_. His head was swimming, and pounded with the strain of staying upright. Every step felt like he was walking with a thousand pound weight resting on his pelvic bone. He didn't even realize legs, or hips, could _hurt_ this much.

   Aziraphale hadn't noticed. Crowley couldn't, and didn't, blame him. He had just gotten a new shipment of _very_ vintage books, and he was just so excited about it. God-Satan-  _Whoever_ knows that Crowley was not about to interrupt his friend's excited rant about 1600-1700s authors just because he was weak.

   Crowley was trying his best to listen, _truly_ , but the whole world was floating around him, his nose _still_ hurt from this morning, and his God-and-Satan damned legs were just a wrong step away from crumbling Crowley into a pile of vaguely-dissociating demon.

   "-ley, Crowley, did you hear what I said?"

   "Hmm?" Crowley turned to look at the angel, eyes going wide as he was suddenly hit with a wave of vertigo. His legs felt like twigs, _painful_ twigs. He was so grateful for glasses.

   "I'm sorry, angel, zoned out for a sec. What were you saying?"

   Aziraphale immediately slid easily back into his mostly one-sided conversation.

   " _Well_ , dear, I was just saying how it was a miracle- not really, actually- that I got these books, they were _so_ expensive but apparently the seller had heard about me before and actually was quite interested in me! He gave me a discount as long as I promised to let him visit a couple times a year-"

   Crowley's vision went black underneath his glasses, hearing fizzing like a broken TV. He fell forward, straight towards the ground.

   " _Dear, Crowley!_

   Aziraphale managed to catch him, just barely, as he fell to the sidewalk. The passersby who had suddenly stopped walking and started staring suddenly realized they had somewhere to be, quite urgently.

   "Crowley! Crowley, what's wrong? Are you injured- was there a demon attack? Did they hurt you?" He started patting Crowley's dapper black outfit, searching for a sore spot or wet patch of demonic blood.

   "Ngh," was Crowley's response to the five questions thrown at him. He vaguely understood what Aziraphale was saying, what he was doing, but the pounding in his head and the biting, aching shiver in his legs made the rest of the world feel a continent away. He felt angelic hands touching him, but distantly.

   "Crowley, _speak to me!_ Were you poisoned? Holy water? Sage? _Please_ , say something!"

   Aziraphale sounded near tears, voice cracking with distress, and Crowley managed to drag his semi-consciousness from the darkness to respond.

   "Mm.. no, 'ngel." He mumbled, leaning closer to Aziraphale's chest. "Not... p'sned. J'st... tired..."

   He so desperately wanted to give in to the intense fatigue looming over his mind, dragging him away from the waking world. And from Aziraphale.

   "O-okay, well, that-that is _good_ , Crowley, that you aren't poisoned- but I've _seen_ you tired, dear, and _this most certainly isn't it!"_

   "T'red..." He whispered. "G'nna... sleep, 'ngel..."

   "No! No, stop that, stay awake! Crowley!"

   He couldn't help it, in the end. Crowley was a snake, after all, and what could he say. Aziraphale was warm.

   Crowley promptly passed out, cold.

* * *

   Aziraphale had been through a lot with Anthony J. Crowley. Heavenly wars and holy water, Eden and Adam. He had to admit, though, there weren't many times he had seen the demon in such a _state_.

   Aziraphale miracled them home- home being the bookshop, of course. He laid Crowley down on the couch immediately, before conjuring some cold water and a clean rag and clearing away Crowley's jacket and shirt with a thought.

   His skin was covered in sweat, his chest lifting with heavy breaths, but no blood. Couldn't smell any holy water or other such artifacts, either. Peculiar.

   Aziraphale tried flipping him over, checking his back, but _nothing._  No new cuts or scars, nothing especially out of the ordinary.

   The tight leather pants didn't seem to be covering any bloody wounds, either, and since Crowley didn't seem to be _actively_ dying on his couch, he decided not to remove them.

   "Oh, dearest Crowley..." He sighed. "What have you done to yourself now?"

    _Perhaps that was it_ , he thought. He wasn't _poisoned_ , per se, but what if- what if, what if he _poisoned himself_. Took a sip of holy water or sage tea or something, for whatever stupid reason his demonic brain had come up with, and this was just one last hurrah, just one last chance to see Aziraphale before Crowley left him, _permanently._

   Aziraphale choked on the thought, suddenly realizing he was crying. He fervently began checking Crowley's pulse, his temperature, skin tone, aura- _anything_ to make sure his demon wasn't actually dying.

   His pulse was fast, too fast, but not dangerous. His temperature was a bit off, but nothing too wild. Crowley seemed deathly pale, but not purple or anything like he was choking. His aura-

    _Ouch_.

   Crowley's aura was flaring, thrashing like it was in pain. Just _looking_ at the poor thing made Aziraphale feel sick, he couldn't even imagine how Crowley felt. No _wonder_ he had gone and collapsed!

    _This still doesn't explain the reason, though_ , Aziraphale thought, and the fact that he couldn't get the idea of this being a new suicide attempt out of his head was _really_ not helping.

    "Alright, then." He stated to the unconscious demon. "I guess I'll just have to wait for my answers, huh, Crowley?"

   Aziraphale sat down by his friend's feet, casting a weary glance to the exhausted man beside him.

   If he had to sit vigil for him, he would. Through whatever.

    _Just, please, Crowely. Please don't die on me._

   He prepared himself, ready to watch the time tick by. This was no time for books.

   He had to watch over his demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crowley: In case you haven’t noticed, I'm in love with Aziraphale. I’m in love. I don't like any other being. And I don't want to like any other being. Have you ever seen me without swooning over this dumbass angel? That's love.  
> aziraphale: crowley please your literally passing out what do I DO
> 
> anyways friendly reminder that when ur disabled You Shouldnt Overexert Yourself Because It May Cause Very Bad Things!!!! take care of urself!!!!! do as I say not as I do lmao


End file.
